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greenwitchfromthewoods · 1 month

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sea shore. l General Marcus Acacius

Summary: your father wanted you to accompany the General, but you didn't want to do it.

Warnings: +18, smut, fingering, unprotected sex (remember - safety first), breeding kink, mention of blood, a little bit of angst (but not really)

A/N: it was one thought and then i sat down and wrote thist. there are definitely mistakes, sorry. but i hope you like it. your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤

"Gods! How much longer do I have to listen to this? Why do you have to be such a disobedient daughter?" your father's loud voice echoed through the garden, and the birds, startled by this, flew off from a nearby tree with a screech. "You're just like your mother! Like your mother!"

"You always said that I got my best traits from her." you replied, not hiding your agitation at all.

"And the worst too! You're stubborn and insufferable." your father took a sip of wine from his goblet and nervously stood up from the armchair placed in the shade of a large tree. "I don't know why the Gods make fun of me like that! They punished me with a daughter like you."

"Or maybe they blessed you." you added.

The man snorted something under his breath and shook his head in disbelief.

For several days, your house had been shaken by more and more arguments. Even the servants had already gotten used to them and they didn't react to your raised voices, only sneaking under the walls or, like now, between the flower bushes and trees.

It all started when last week your father, one of the most distinguished generals of the Roman Empire, announced to you after returning from the Emperor's palace that you would go to the province to your estate by the sea.

You were surprised. It wasn't the time of year when you went to that place. And then he proudly declared:

"General Marcus Acacius will honor us with his presence there. Unfortunately, I can't accompany him, but you know this place very well. You will be a pleasant company for him."

You resisted almost immediately. General Acacius was the Emperor's favorite. A brilliant commander, brave and untamed. However, you had no intention of spending time in his company. You knew this type of people, soldiers, very well.

They were brutal and aggressive. They always took what they thought was theirs and didn't show any brilliance.

Of course, your father was different. That's why your mother married him. Unfortunately, fate gave them only one child, a daughter. So you grew up among gardens and shields, and you weren't afraid to say what you thought. Your mother died when you were still little, and your father never married again. So you were the only one left.

And now you were looking at him furious like some goddess of anger and storm, and he had no idea how to deal with you.

"General Acacius is a great man. His presence will be an honor for us." Your father tried to speak calmly, although you rolled your eyes.

"Our family has enough honors, father." you replied. "Years ago, you were in his place. You conquered new territories and wealth for the glory of the Empire."

"But I'm old now. Let the old man enjoy the fact that his home will accept such a wonderful man. Please, go there with him tomorrow. Show him what wonderful lands we have. Please your old father's heart."

"You're perfidious, father." you sighed. "You play the old man card, when you're full of strength. You were training in sword fighting just yesterday!"

You wanted to add something else, but hurried footsteps on the gravel path distracted you. One of the servants appeared and bowed low.

"Sir." she said quietly. "You have a guest. General Acacius has appeared at your request."

"Bring him to the garden, please." your father replied, completely ignoring your indignant look, and added to you. "The matter is settled and beyond discussion. Pack your bags. You're leaving tomorrow."

"I can't believe you invited him here!" you hissed.

Your father just shrugged and poured himself another glass of wine. You knew you couldn't resist any longer and had to fulfill his request. You understood his arguments and you knew that, as the heir to his lineage, you had to make sure that your family didn't lose what your father had fought so hard for.

"Oh, Marcus! It's wonderful to see you." Your father beamed, looking over your shoulder.

"Greetings, Lucius." A low voice rang out behind you, and a stocky man appeared immediately after, shaking your father's hand.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and tanned skin. His dark hair had streaks of gray on his temples, but he was still very handsome. The armor he wore contrasted with your father's white toga.

"Marcus, this is my daughter, Y/N." The General's brown eyes landed on you, he looked at you searchingly. "She'll show you our estate. I'm sure you'll be pleased. You'll spend these few days in almost royal conditions."

"My lady." Marcus nodded, but you didn't even flinch.

You reminded him of the sculptures of goddesses he'd seen in temples. Beautiful and inaccessible, shrouded in a wonderful fog of mystery.

"Of course, she can talk. She's just a little..."

"I'm dissatisfied." You replied, looking bravely at the General.

"Why is that?" the man asked, folding his arms across his chest, clearly interested.

"I think you'd be more comfortable with my father's company, General." You continued, not looking away from him, even though his eyes were boring right through you. "I'm just a weak woman, I don't think I'd be interesting company for someone with your reputation."

"But certainly very beautiful." Acacius replied.

"Y/N, please go to your chambers and pack." Your father quickly intervened, because he saw that you had opened your mouth again.

You nodded and walked away from your guest. Marcus watched you go until you disappeared into the cool walls of your home.

"A charming creature." He stated, smiling at the older man.

"Yes, indeed." Lucius handed him a glass of wine and raised his own slightly before bringing it to his lips. "Lovely, like her mother. Unfortunately, the Gods only gifted us with her. Sometimes I think it was easier to tame the barbarians on the outskirts of the Empire than to engage in battle with a woman like her."

"Rome needs women like her too." Marcus swallowed a sip of sweet wine.

"And she needs a husband!" your father laughed and sat back down in his chair. "Someone to teach her how to be humble. Maybe when she gives birth to her own children, she'll understand that I always wanted the best for her."

"We don't know what fate has in store for us, Lucius."

The man nodded and looked longingly at the entrance his daughter had disappeared through.

A pleasant, cool wind from the sea swept over your face. The sound of waves crashing against the shore and the cries of white seagulls flying above them filled your ears. You loved this place.

Even as a child, you could spend hours looking for shells and small crabs on the shore. You ran away from the waves that tickled your feet, ran up the sand dunes and picked wild flowers growing nearby.

This house was a safe place for you and now, as you stood on the balcony looking at the setting sun, you felt peace and gratitude.

You heard a rustle and after a moment someone's lips brushed your exposed shoulder, and strong arms wrapped around your waist.

"Why did you leave the bed?"

"I like this view at this time." You replied, feeling kisses slowly creeping up to your neck, you tilted your head slightly, giving him better access to this sensitive spot. "Don't you think it's beautiful?"

"I have a much more beautiful one before my eyes." he mumbled quietly.

You smiled, reaching out behind you and sliding your fingers into his soft hair. As his soft lips roamed your shoulder, one of his hands squeezed your breast tenderly. A quiet sigh escaped your chest.

"Marcus..." you sighed, "You're insatiable..."

"I'll never get enough of you, love." he whispered, "I could die between your thighs or feeling your lips on mine."

"You better not do that." you giggled, turning in his arms and looking into those beautiful eyes, "How am I going to explain to my father that General Acacius died with his dick buried inside me."

"You're right." he nodded, "That could be a tough one. But such a death would be glorious."

His warm lips captured yours. You loved their taste from the first moment.

When you first met Marcus many months ago, you couldn't take your eyes off him. And he experienced the same, he admitted it to you during one of your secret meetings. You were sure that fate had placed you opposite each other, you couldn't fight it.

His lips quickly tasted yours. Your bodies found their way to each other and soon you were repeating his name in amorous ecstasy. However, you hid it from prying eyes. Marcus was still on the Emperor's orders, and you were afraid of your father's reaction if you tied your fate to the soldier.

"Now everything will change, my love." he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. "Soon I will be only yours, and you only mine."

"I have belonged to you for a long time, Marcus." you replied. "Since the first time I saw you, I knew..."

"Tell me."

You knew how much he loved it when you confessed your love to him or told him about what awaited you when times became calmer and more gracious for both of you. These stories gave him strength, and your voice soothed his racing thoughts.

He adored you every day. And every night he would raise prayers to the Gods, thanking them for the grace they had bestowed upon him. He didn't think a man like him deserved someone so wonderful and pure.

And yet you were. He held you in his arms, felt your heartbeat, kissed your lips. You were more material than what he believed in.

"I knew you were mine," you said quietly, the pads of your fingers brushing his lips. "You looked at me like you had been searching for me your whole life. And I felt like I had suddenly come alive. I had never felt like this before."

"I thought you were just a dream..." Marcus whispered, his lips brushing your fingers. "I was afraid that if I blinked, you would disappear. If that happened, my heart would never know peace. I didn't think I deserved someone as heavenly as you..."

Your hands rested on his cheeks, and you looked straight into those eyes you loved.

"Marcus, you are the bravest man I know. I couldn't give my heart better than in your hands."

"My hands are stained with blood, my love."

"So let me wash them with my love and devotion to you."

You kissed him, feeling the remnants of sweet wine on his lips. You clung to his bare chest, letting the sheet you were wrapped in slide to the floor. Marcus' hands rubbed your back as he kissed you back.

He slowly moved you and you felt a cold pillar behind you. You leaned against it. Marcus' hand slid between your thighs, touching your slippery folds. The remnants of what he had left there recently were trying to leave.

You moaned quietly, feeling his fingers slide into you.

"You're so beautiful... So divine." he murmured in your ear, glancing as his fingers disappeared inside you. "I filled you to the brim, and I know you'd take even more. I'd like you to walk around Rome with my cum flowing lazily down your thighs... It would remind you of all those moments together. And I'd know that you carry something of mine inside you."

"I've walked like this before..." you replied, smiling seductively. "I felt your seed between my legs when I was talking to my father's guests, and once even at a party in the Emperor's palace."

Marcus growled deeply at the mere memory of how he had possessed you, quickly and hard, during that party, when you both had disappeared for a moment in the dark corridors, unnoticed. His fingers were delving deeper into you, teasing that sensitive spot that was giving you incredible pleasure.

"Yesterday, when I saw you in the garden with your father, I wanted to kiss you." he confessed, kissing the corner of your mouth. "I wanted to fall at your feet, confess my love to you, and beg him to let me marry you. Gods! You were so adorable with those pouty lips and that angry expression."

"I think I would strangle you if you did!" your hand slid down his soft stomach, through his pubic hair, straight to his hard cock. "My father is not ready to part with me yet. I know he says otherwise, but believe me, he is not ready." you stroked his hard manhood a few times and Marcus groaned "But now everything will change. When we come back, a new life will be waiting for us."

"I can't even imagine it, love. Are you sure - ohhhh.... Are you sure he'll agree?"

"Of course he will." His fingers slipped out of you and Marcus stood between your legs, lifting you up slightly and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he slowly lowered you onto his cock "He respects you so much... Ohhh, yes!... He'll be happy when a general like you tames his daughter."

You were so juicy that his cock slid into you without the slightest problem all the way to the base. You breathed deeply, letting your walls get used to the stretch. Even though Marcus had been inside you so many times, each time you felt the same pleasant feeling of being completely filled by him.

"I want you to be my wife, not my servant." he said softly "I will only enslave you in the bedroom when you let me. When you let me be raw and rough, I will fuck that wonderful pussy until tears come to your eyes and your throat hurts from screaming my name."

He thrust his hips and you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter. He moved hard, his fingers digging into your soft hips where there were already marks from your last closeness. He felt your cunt squeeze him, still hungry for his seed.

Your back ached from being pressed against the column, but you didn't complain. Each thrust was harder and brought you closer to your peak.

"Tell me you'll let me put a baby in your womb." His voice was interrupted by every breath, but you felt that those words went straight to your core. "Tell me I'll see your swollen belly, your milky breasts... You'll be the goddess of life."

"I'll let you fill me to the brim every night... OHHHH! I want to carry your seed inside me, like fertile soil. Our sons and daughters will grow for the glory of your lineage." you moaned, digging your nails into his strong shoulders. "I'll be surprised if we don't come back from here with one of our children nested in my womb. Gods!"

The mere thought that you could already be with his child made Marcus start thrusting into you harder and more determinedly.

You felt that you wouldn't last long. His strength and passion were so great that soon you felt your body tense up, and the velvet walls tightly wrapped around his cock. Waves of pleasure flooded your entire body, but Marcus didn't stop. A few more thrusts made his seed flood your pussy once again. Driven by natural instinct, with a loud groan, he pushed them in further and further, as if he wanted to be sure that your prophecies would come true.

You put your forehead to his, you felt his sweaty skin under your fingers, his hot breath warmed your breasts.

You still had him inside you as the cooler evening wind caressed your skin. The cries of seagulls tore you out of your reverie for a moment. He slowly lowered you and your legs buckled slightly under you as your feet touched the cold floor.

"Kiss me, my love." he whispered, and you gladly fulfilled his request.

You kissed the man you loved with tenderness and devotion, you wanted him to feel everything that was in your heart that you couldn't express. And you knew that Marcus felt it.

"You were definitely right about one thing." he stated after a moment, looking at you with love “There are truly beautiful views in this place."

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 5 days

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Hold Me Like A Knife (i) (ao3)

In the words of our lord and saviour Taylor Swift, it's been a long time coming but... presenting, for @nessianweek day 4, viking!Cassian 🖤

After a decisive battle forges a peace treaty between the king of the West Saxons and the leader of the viking horde, Anglo-Saxon Nesta Archeron is brought north for the first time in her life when the king’s court travels to Jorvik to settle the terms and draw up boundary lines. After centuries of bloody raids, she should be terrified of the invaders from across the sea— after all, tales abound of their violence and their brutality. And yet quickly she discovers that there are some things about the heathens that she can’t help but be drawn to… especially when a chance encounter brings her face to face with one viking in particular.

Jorvik, 884 AD

In nomine patris, et filli et spiritus sancti.

With each step of the horses’ hooves beyond the borderlands of Wessex, the priest muttered those same words; a prayer offered at every turn, the sign of the cross made with stiff hands and a darkened brow as mile after mile gave way beneath their feet. Through the countryside and long grass, beneath the grey sky that loomed heavy above, the king’s court made its way north— and all the while, Osbert the Holy Man whispered.

In nomine patris, et filli et spiritus sancti.

Like the ground itself was cursed, and only his prayers could save them.

It was maddening.

With a scowl, Nesta Archeron cast her eyes to the sky, rolling her eyes as Osbert began another rotation of prayers, his fingers tripping over the rosary at his neck.

She hadn’t ever wished to head north.

It was full of wild-men, her father used to say. Wild-men with bloodied swords and even bloodier hands, invaders who set fire to the coast and laughed as it burned. Men from across the sea, who spoke in strange tongues and worshipped strange gods, who murdered priests and monks and nuns only to revel in the violence. From the places civilisation had forgotten to reach, he said, they made their home beneath grim skies on stolen Saxon land.

Nobody wanted to head north these days.

Even the horses had slowed their pace, like after days of traveling they were reluctant, now, to reach their destination. Nesta scanned the landscape with narrowed eyes as her grey mare shook her head, the reins she’d held so loosely for the past hour becoming taut, and though Nesta hadn’t spoken to her father in two whole summers, his words came back to her now, as if carried by the wind that blew cold towards the south. Aedwulf had said many things over the years that Nesta had stopped believing in, but he had gotten one thing right. The skies were grim up here, overcast and heavy, the clouds like a swathe of slate rolling in from across the sea. The April sun was well hidden, and as the bite of the wind numbed her cheeks, it made her think of the depths of winter rather than the first breaths of spring. With another scowl aimed at the sky, Nesta pulled her fur-edged cloak more closely about her shoulders, the tips of her fingers aching as she clung to the fabric.

For what must have been the hundredth time, she cursed the day they’d left Wessex.

Ahead of her, as the sun made a rare appearance from behind the clouds, the gold of the king’s crown glinted weakly, like a spark attempting flame. She wondered if anybody else had noticed that the garnets studding the band about his temples gleamed dark like pools of fresh blood; reminiscent of the battles that had brought them here.

Their side will be known as the Danelaw, the king had announced after the last pitched battle; the one that had ended with weapons on both sides laid down, a tentative peace agreed as the Norse leader had the sign of the cross traced on his brow with holy water. They will have their own laws and customs, but their leader will be baptised a Christian.

With that hammered diadem about his brow, King Alfred led his court north now, chasing peace as they neared the city of Jorvik, where the pagan lands were to be ratified; the boundaries between their peoples hammered out like a sword fresh from the forge. The women, Alfred had insisted, were to be present too - to add ‘an air of civility’ to the proceedings, like he thought the Danes might stay their hand and sheathe their blades in the presence of ladies.

Nesta had barely been able to suppress her snort at that.

They’d all heard the stories— gruesome ones, of the pagans and their rituals. Tomas had even taken great pleasure, once, in describing to her, in detail, the horrifying blood eagle. The way the Danes delighted in breaking a man apart, in snapping bone and twisting ribs until they spread apart like wings.

If the treaty between them wasn’t enough to ensure peace and prevent violence, Nesta doubted the presence of a handful of noblewomen would be enough to convince the Danes to behave.

And yet as the wife of the king’s right hand, Nesta had no refusal she could offer, and no reason good enough to keep her in Wessex when the king insisted that his court accompany him north— to that lawless place, where even the soil was saturated with Saxon blood.

Or so it was said, anyway.

“We used to call it Eoforwic, you know,” Tomas muttered from the space beside her.

Her husband’s voice was a scathing rasp barely even audible above the sound of a hundred horses’ hooves. He looked ahead at the horizon, nodding to the city walls before them now, piercing the sky in a great wooden structure, stark against the grey of the countryside. Even from a distance Nesta could see that the ramparts were topped with wooden spikes, sharpened to a point that, she suspected, would be lethal if climbed. And yet, riding at her husband’s side, Nesta Archeron said nothing.

“And then the heathens took over,” he finished through gritted teeth.

The heathens.

The word was almost enough to drive fear into the heart of any proper Saxon woman, but as they approached the gates in the long train behind the king, Nesta didn’t feel so much as an ember of it stirring in her breast. After all, for almost two full decades now the heathens had occupied the city that had been Eoforwic, and yet by all accounts the city behind those walls wasn’t lying in ashes like the monasteries scattered along the coastline. No— it was flourishing. The men from across the sea that had raided these shores for so many years, to murder and pillage and burn, had settled. Renamed the place Jorvik, set down roots. And as the gates before them opened with the sound of creaking wooden beams, Nesta waited for all the signs of such infamous brutality to hit her— the smoke and dead silence, the smell of rotting flesh. The empty eyes of the people living behind those walls, the cruel smiles of the men from across the sea.

Without pause her horse crossed the threshold. She looked up— saw the symbols carved into the gate posts, the sharp lines of an alphabet she didn’t recognise.

And still, she waited.

There were no screams, no rivers of blood pooling in the streets.

Instead, Jorvik stretched ahead of them, the roads wide enough for carts to pass two abreast.

Wattle and daub houses lined the roads, old Roman tiles decorating the walls of a select few— as well as old bricks and white stone, repurposed and used again, like the Danes hadn’t destroyed the city at all, merely… expanded on what they had already found. Woven fences separated buildings, clothes hung on lines strung in the narrow alleys between houses, and all around them the air was filled with languages that landed strangely on the ear, tongues both harsh and soft that Nesta had never heard before. Not the Saxon she was used to nor the Latin she heard in church, but something else, something that felt richer, somehow. And as she watched with a slackened jaw and widened eyes, her attention followed the sound of those voices, her focus dragged towards the river where the ships came in, laden with goods imported from all over the continent and beyond.

Nesta had only ever seen her corner of Wessex before, but here— here it seemed like the entire world opened up before her.

And though she knew she shouldn’t…

She wanted to see more of it.

With her eyes fixed on that river, on the horizon that seemed to hold so much in the way of promise, a kind of longing rose within her, and suddenly Nesta thought she understood just a little of why the Danes chased their home on the seas.

Beneath it all, in the distance, there was the tell-tale sound of a forge at work too, the clatter of a hammer against an anvil. As it rang through the winding streets, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of blade the smithy was beating into shape. Would it be great and heavy when it was done— as grand as the king’s own sword, kept in its sheath until battle called? Or would it be practical and small, light enough for even her own hands to wield—

“Nesta,” Tomas hissed at her side, little more than a scold as he leaned over and took the reins of her horse in his gloved hand. The horse whinnied, like even the mare couldn’t stand his closeness. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

“No,” Nesta shrugged, her eyes drifting back to the river, to the lines of ships gathered there. Ships that sat low in the water, heavy with stock. Ships that were wide and flat-bottomed, so unusual she couldn’t look away.

“I said, the pagans are too brazen. This was a Christian city.”

He pulled away, shoving the reins back into her hands as he sat back in his saddle, his lip curling in disgust. His features twisted into a grimace; a sneer that held as his eyes roved over Jorvik’s streets.

“Barbarous,” Osbert muttered, scowling as he rubbed a thumb over the cross he wore at his neck. “A violent and brutish people.”

Tomas hummed his agreement. The priests’s white robes fluttered in the wind, and Nesta glanced at the mud-spattered hem as the priest ran a thin hand over his tonsured head. His face was stark, all bloodless cheeks and dark eyes, and though she hadn’t ever been able to put a finger on it, there was something about the holy man that unnerved her, made her shudder whenever she found herself too close to him.

And she had been too close to him for days now.

Osbert had been by the king’s side almost as long as Tomas, and had struck up a companionship with her husband that meant the priest was frequently lingering in their rooms at court, never too far from the side of either the king or her husband. Both men rode directly behind King Alfred now, in a position of prominence that spoke to their influence, and as the streets of Jorvik grew even wider, leading them easily to an open courtyard close to the centre of the city, Nesta wondered how easy it might be to slip from her horse and disappear through those streets, never to see either of those men again.

Before she could let the thought take root, the king stopped his horse.

Ahead of them a great hall loomed; a towering wooden structure with two floors, its thatched roof a meeting of two large, carved wooden beams at the front— two serpents twining at the apex where they crossed.

The lord’s hall.

They could get no closer— the door was closed, the windows of the ground floor shuttered. Nesta frowned, taking in the crowd that had gathered before that closed door, assembled in a circle to leave a great space empty in the centre of the courtyard. At least fifty Danes she counted, all of them waiting, she thought, for the arrival of the King of Wessex.

But then there was the sound of steel ringing out upon steel, and as the crowd before them parted to let the horses through, Alfred’s trail of Saxons caught their first glimpse of the spectacle taking place just a stone’s throw from the lord’s hall and it’s resolutely closed door. As the spectators closed the circle behind them, she realised that the Danes weren’t there for Alfred at all.

At the centre of that circle, two Danes prowled around one another like wolves. Nesta felt her eyes widen— her knuckles tighten on her horse’s reins.

The nearest Dane towered above the rest, his skin like burnished bronze even in the dim grey light. In one hand he held a great steel sword— in the other, a short-handled axe. A seax. He wore a thin tunic, already clinging to his skin, and his hair curled haphazardly to his shoulders. Around his neck a silver pendant hung in the shape of a hammer, and when he lunged it danced, catching the thin light as much as his sword. The second Dane was similarly built, yet lighter on his feet and a touch more lithe, and as a manic grin split across the face of the first, a whisper rippling along the gathered crowd as coins exchanged hands, Nesta realised that the crowd had gathered to place their bets— to watch the fight like one might listen to a minstrel.

The second Dane tilted his head, his raven hair cut short, and when he turned Nesta saw the smile that pulled at his mouth, like the fight… excited him.

Like there was no malice in it.

Like it was… fun.

The first was handsome in a rugged kind of way, a single scar splitting through his eyebrow and a hundred more littering the arms laid bare by his rolled-up sleeves. Tattoos snaked their way across his skin, shifting with each flex of muscle, and it was an effort to tear her eyes away from him, like somehow she needed to discover just how he’d earned each and every one of those scars.

As the second Dane moved into her line of vision, she noticed that he had scars too— far more brutal ones that consumed both his hands, like he’d been caught in a fire. Like perhaps he’d started the kind of fire his people were so infamous for, burning down monasteries up and down the eastern coast.

Nesta blinked once. Twice.

The first Dane dropped his sword to the ground, letting it clatter against the packed earth. He flipped his axe, clever fingers wrapping around the hilt as he crooked the fingers of his other hand in invitation. He murmured something in his native tongue, and Nesta tilted her head as he grinned again, shifting his weight and readying himself to make the next strike. The second smiled grimly, and even though both were already marred with blood - and a thin cut left a trail of blood weeping along the arm of the first - neither seemed particularly concerned. Like a little bloodshed was nothing.

The first wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and grinned as that, too, came away smeared with blood.

“Barbarous,” the priest muttered again.

“Brutish,” Tomas agreed, an echo.

The sun broke from behind the clouds, briefly illuminating the fighters in gold. They wore no armour, and Nesta’s mouth felt dry as she watched the first one fight, his arms corded with muscle that she suspected could break a man’s neck with ease. And he did make it lookeasy, the way he lifted his axe. The way he swept forward, dipping low enough to the ground to pluck up his discarded sword.

The second warrior held his own, just as adept, but when the first landed a kick to his thigh that sent him stumbling—

Within a breath, the first Dane had his blade levelled at the neck of the second.

For a moment, Nesta’s heart was in her throat.

Here was the bloodshed— the easy violence that made the Danes so fearsome.

Would the first one cut the second’s throat with that smile still plastered on his face? Would he make that look easy too, when he opened his fellow countryman’s neck?

Nesta held her breath.

Waited.

But after a moment, the first tossed his head back and laughed, grinning at his victory as his curls spilled across his shoulders. Then he extended a hand, helping the second to his feet even as the latter muttered something under his breath that Nesta couldn’t understand— something she suspected might have been good-natured grumbling after a fight lost between friends.

Their hands clasped; all blood-stained skin and scars.

“Next time,” she heard the second warrior say darkly, his chest rising and falling rapidly after the exertion of the fight. “Next time, It’ll be you on the floor.”

The first grinned, his victory lining his face with mirth. He opened his mouth, his dark eyes shining, but before he could speak, the doors to the hall behind them opened. Silence fell as a figure filled the doorway, dressed in deep black that almost made him one with the shadows of the hall behind, and as the warriors sheathed their blades, Nesta noted how the smile on the mouth of the first refused to fade, even in the presence of what was surely his lord.

“King Alfred.” The figure in the doorway stepped further into the grey light, his voice smooth and lilting beneath his accent, and as the weak sunlight glanced off the sharp planes of his face and illuminated the angular cut of his jaw, he looked like a man entirely content with command. His hair was smooth and black, kept short, and the deep black of his tunic was interrupted only by the silver rings on each of his fingers and the silver torc about his wrist.

“Lord Rhysand,” Alfred answered, his voice tight even as they met under the banner of peace. Tension wove through them like a breeze; the treaty between them hardly stronger than a reed in the river. Animosity was buried too deep, mistrust a currency of its own between their peoples. No matter what peace their leaders had agreed, Nesta hardly thought any of them were fooled.

Peace was a powder keg, just waiting for a spark.

Still, the leader of the Danes made a show of flashing a smile towards the Saxons.

“Ignore my brothers,” he said, flicking a hand towards the two warriors they had witnessed sparring. “As Danes, the fight is embedded in our blood. We train for hours against one another,” he continued as he moved with purpose down the three steps that led up to the hall’s imposing door. His eyes glinted with something like arrogance as he canted his head, slowly, to the side. “To achieve the kind of prowess that wins our battles.”

Unease whispered through the gathered crowd, the smile on the first warrior’s face dropping to a darkened smirk as he looked up at the assembled Saxons from beneath his eyelashes. His hand shifted— fingers twitching towards the handle of his seax.

There was a threat there, Nesta thought, left so thinly veiled by Rhysand’s words.

Alfred said nothing, only nodded sagely before glancing back, briefly, at his priest. Osbert’s scowl had deepened, his lips pressed so thin they were almost entirely invisible, and yet with a nod, both men’s horses stepped forwards anyway. The King of Wessex slid to his feet when his horse stopped in the centre of the courtyard, opening his arms in a show of perfect companionship as he walked towards the Danish lord.

It was a display Rhysand echoed, clasping Alfred’s hand as they embraced. The silver of his rings contrasted the gold of Alfred’s, and though no crown encircled Rhysand’s brow, authority rippled from him in waves. The warriors he had called his brothers took up a position on either side of their lord, like dark shadows that threatened violence, and as the rest of the crowd dispersed and serving men stepped forward to take their horses, they watched.

Smoothly, Nesta dismounted and handed her reins to a waiting groom. Beside her, Tomas still scowled, like just breathing the same air as the northmen was an affront to him. But then again, Nesta thought silently, most things proved an affront to Tomas Mandray. Even being one of the king’s right-hand men wasn’t enough for him. That scowl was permanently etched across his brow, like nothing and nobody was ever truly good enough.

Lifting her chin, Nesta straightened the silver rings that wound around her fingers. A sure sign of wealth— as sure as the belt at her waist decorated with gold, and the gold and garnet-inlaid brooches that held her cloak together at her collarbone. Tomas’ proximity to the king might not have given him land or a real title, but at least it had given him some wealth, and if gold and garnets were the only thing Nesta was to get out of this godforsaken marriage… well.

She smoothed a hand down her cloak.

So be it.

He left her standing alone as he drifted towards the king, a Saxon in a Norse stronghold. His gait was heavy as he stormed forwards, his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, and as their leaders spoke together with heads bowed, voices too low for Nesta to hear, all she could do was clasp her hands and wait for somebody - anybody - to show her to their lodgings. It took effort, sometimes, to keep her tongue behind her teeth. To keep from screaming as the rest of the king’s court moved to make way for the men, whilst the women lingered in the dust.

She looked forward, cast her eyes over the Danes that remained standing before the lord’s hall. The warrior with the curling hair and scar-split brow glanced up, a soft breeze shifting those loose curls back to reveal both the high cut of his cheekbones and the curve of his ear, studded at several points with silver rings. His arms were folded over his broad chest, and when his eyes flicked to hers, Nesta felt his attention as sharply as the blade of the seax he had tucked into his belt.

He was from another world— one so foreign to her that she didn’t know what to do when their eyes met, and yet there was something warm in it when he smirked again, a base heat that gathered at the bottom of her spine, constricting her lungs as she kept her head high. With a jolt that sent lightning forking down her spine, that mouth of his split into a grin as he inclined his head towards her in greeting.

“Come,” Rhysand announced, his voice echoing through the courtyard as he drew away from Alfred. With a sweep of one arm, he motioned broadly to the open door of the hall. “Let us get the business over with. The sooner it is done, the sooner we can drink.”

Several of the Danes let out a low cheer at that, more than one of them lifting an arm into the air as if to appease their gods. Skol, one of them proclaimed loudly, hammering a fist against his chest.

Nesta didn’t pretend to understand, but as Rhysand led Alfred through that door, Osbert and Tomas in tow, she lingered in that courtyard, even as the cold air nipped at her skin. And as Tomas looked back over his shoulder and called her name with irritation lining each syllable, she looked back to the Dane that had snared her attention and watched as his lips kicked up at one corner, his head tilted as he looked at her with the full force of that determined gaze.

And as she watched, the Dane winked.

“Skol,” he echoed.

Taglist: @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @pyxxie

#aaaaand we're back with the essays in the author's notes on ao3 #dont you just love a historical au #nessianweek2024 #nessian #nessian fic

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augustjustice · 1 month

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Wiggly Wednesday 🧠🪱

I've been a disaster for the last month and a half and kept forgetting to post my wiggly Wednesday thoughts, but I am FINALLY getting around to it today!

Thank so much for the tag this week @tinytalkingtina and all the lovely folks who have tagged me before!!🖤💛Consider this a tag back to share those wonderful brainworms (if you'd like to):

@ataliagold @penny00dreadful @soaringornithopter @steddie-island

Because of a comment @theohohmoment made on a gif set of Eddie Kaspbrak saying it gave huge Steve de-aged by Upside Down nonsense vibes (which, I completely see the vision), the idea of Steve having to deal with being de-aged has had me in a chokehold for a couple of days now.

My brain defaulted to Steve finding Dustin first--and though he's curious at heart and more than accustomed to the weirdness of the world at this point, it still takes some effort for Steve to convince him that it's actually him. Secret handshakes and hair care secrets have to be divulged before Dustin is gasping, "Steve?!" in disbelief while Steve rolls his eyes, one hand on his hip as he deadpans, "Yeah, dude, it's really me."

"But you're...you're..."

"A pipsqueak? Kinda already had that part figured out, Henderson, thanks for that."

Dustin hums, thoughtfully, before his face breaks into a wide grin. "Technically speaking, does this make you my little brother now?"

"Not mentally!"

Dustin rallies the troops (the party) and then takes Steve to Robin and Eddie for help--maybe they were already on the lookout for him, if he hadn't shown up to pick Robin up or meet Eddie for their customary afternoon hangout session of smoking a joint and relaxing. After the initial confusion of assuming Steve must be a friend the kids have taken into their fold, it actually doesn't take nearly as much convincing as it did with Dustin to get the two to recognize him, since, well...

Robin and Eddie--they're Steve's peers, give-or-take a grade on either side. They remember Steve at this age, but with the lens of having been kids themselves. And, sure, the high school hierarchy hadn't yet been established, but Steve was still a sporty kid, a rich kid, still popular by 13 year old standards. So they know who they're staring at, once Dustin gives the whole spiel rapid fire. Realizing that Steve is now all awkward, gangly limbs and chipmunk cheeks, thought--that's a real shock, and a delightful one at that.

"Guess I can't call you big boy, anymore," Eddie comments wryly, earning him Steve's most fearsome scowl.

Even after the initial surprise of things passes, the pair of them can't stop cooing at him, pinching his face and ruffling his hair, prompting Steve to pout and grumble and tell them to fuck off about a thousand times over.

It's not much better with the kids. They aren't teasing and fussing over Steve the same way, sure, since age-wise he's landed himself right smack dab in the middle between them and Erica. But they barely listened to him before, the little hellions, and though Steve still defaults to playing babysitter, pretty much any and all authority he had has been totally lost.

By the third or fourth time they've pulled the we're older card to overrule him, Steve's had enough.

"You don't pull this shit with Erica! And she's way younger than you!"

Dustin scoffs. "Uh, yeah, that's cuz Erica could kick all our asses."

Mike and even Lucas simply nod sagely in agreement while Erica looks triumphant in the background. Even Steve can't argue that particular point, although he does huff back, "Oh, what, so you're saying I can't?"

Dustin ruffles his hair--God, but Steve really does not appreciate being on the other side of that one--and simply says, "Steve, little buddy...even before there's no way you could have."

It takes Eddie himself to break up the (mostly playful) wrestling match that ensues immediately afterwards.

It's not all bad, though. Even though at 19 Steve lets himself be a bit of a goofball, he's still used to being the "one in charge" when the party is around, at times the literal grown up in an emergency and worrying over making sure everyone is okay. That instinct is still there, of course, but...lessened when the entire situation opens up possibilities of just being a kid, even for a little while. Eddie and Robin both are only all too happy to encourage and indulge that, knowing that the general absence of Steve's parents forced him to grow up a bit too fast, and the last several years of monster hunting haven't exactly helped with things.

It's Eddie often egging Steve on to take the final step--try to win enough tickets at the arcade to claim the largest stuffed animal hanging on the wall, betting Steve he can't swing himself over the top of the swingset at the park--with a teasing, "Come on, Harrington, you know you want to."

And the thing is, Steve does, and for the first time in a long while he feels free enough that he can.

"You know, it's probably a good thing this happened now, and not, like...senior year," Steve muses, peering at Eddie where he's settled in the other swing, their shoes dragging gently through the smooth pebbles under their feet.

Eddie frowns, trying to follow his logic. "Gonna need you to walk me through that one, Harrington."

"Well, these days, I've got you and Rob."

"What, to help you figure things out?" Eddie isn't sure how much of a boon he really is for that part--Robin, sure, braniac that she was. The odds probably would have been in Steve's favor even before, though, given what mini-geniuses Dustin and the rest of the party turned out to be, especially when it came to Upside Down shenanigans.

"So I'd have a reason to even want to figure things out," Steve murmurs quietly.

Eddie's head whips to stare at him, blinking owlishly, expression a mixture of confusion and alarm.

"Stevie, I don't--what do you--?"

He shrugs one shoulder, smile sheepish, the self-deprecating shine of his eyes jarring in a face still soft with baby fat.

"I mean..." Steve starts to count off on his fingers, "I'd just barely managed to survive my second round with all this bullshit. Nancy and I broke up. School was shit. Tommy and Carol--not like I could talk to them, or would even want to, after everything that happened. And Hargrove totally had it out for my ass. The only thing I really had going for me at the time was, you know. Looking after those little hellions."

"Sure, not being able to drive, that shit sucks, but...I'm just saying, back then, staying thirteen would have looked a lot more tempting. Plus, it'd be kinda nice to just--I don't know. Get a chance at a do-over." Pressing his face the chain of the swingset, his big, hazel eyes peeking out around it, Steve adds in an undertone, "Maybe not be such a jackass the second time around."

Eddie feels a pang in his chest. He can't resist the urge to walk his swing over so he can lay a hand on Steve's shoulder and squeeze--less forceful, more careful than he usually is. "We've all got shit we'd change, if we got another shot. Christ, I sure as hell would--you're talking to a third year senior here, after all. But, I think you're being way too fucking hard on yourself, man. You did just fine the first go-around, no retcon necessary."

Steve smiles, a soft, hesitant thing. "...Thanks, Eds."

"Anytime, Stevie."

And then, of course, from there Robin and the kids use their big brain power to break whatever curse Steve's been placed under, and Eddie helps him learn to still embrace all his silly, childish indulgences even now that he's back to being one of the 'big kids.'

#pre steddie #steddie #de-aged steve #my writing #wiggly wednesday #tag game #tag games #this kind of ran away from me #but then what else is new lol

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larabiatasstuff · 3 months

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Part one here 🖤

Part three 🖤

I was happy, hurt, sad angry all these emotions drove me insane and I had to get them out in some way. As soon as I entered the casino, I threw my machete into one of those slot machines, flipped a table and punched a hole in the wall. I sat on the floor completely out of breath when my eyes landed on the metal box under my bed. The only thing my parents left me when they brought me to the asylum. I got up, picked it up and opened it. It was full of photos , drawings and video tapes. I took the photos and looked at them. On every single one was me with Y/N. Us in partner costumes on Halloween, on the talent show in school or just playing outside at her or our house.

We were inseparable. We promised we would be friends forever and that's why we made those friendship bracelets for each other. I took the box and went to the security office to see if I could get the tapes to work and after a few tries the monitor started flickering and played the video. One was from the school ball, Y/N was wearing a beautiful dress and I was wearing a suit,we were dancing to the music and everytime I swirled her around she laughed. My heart hurt at the view of the good old times and hurt more to know that she was now happy with some guy named Joe that was going to marry her. I hated him with all my heart and honestly I thought about finding out where he lived and pay him a visit but then I remembered how happy she looked talking about her future with him and that was all I wanted for her, to be happy. I took a few pictures out of the box, put them in an envelope and sealed it. I watched one tape after the other laughing and crying, telling Harold about the good times Y/N and I had and then under the last one I found the bracelet she made for me,it didn't fit anymore so I decided to put it on the mirror in the truck. I didn't sleep that night, I was sitting outside waiting for the sun to appear on the horizon. I got in the truck and drove back to the bar where Y/N was preparing everything to open. "Sweet Tooth! What are you doing here so early?" she asked "I... I want to apologize for yesterday it... everything was too much for me I'm sorry Y/N." she put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a warm smile "That's completely fine Sweet Tooth I was overwhelmed myself. I just thought I might have said something wrong." "No you did nothing wrong Y/N. I... I'm also here to give you something. I sorted out some stuff and... This is for you." I handed her the envelope and watched her open it. "Oh my god! I can really have these? Oh Sweet Tooth I don't know what to say." "It's alright Y/N I just don't want you to forget me when you go." "I could never forget you Sweet Tooth and hey maybe our paths will cross again. I'm glad I could talk to you before I go Sweet Tooth and I hope that you will find someone to share your life with." she gave me a really tight hug and this time I didn't hesitate to hug her back." I hope you will be happy Y/N and tell your Joe that he has to take good care of you or we have a problem. " she laughed " I'll tell him I promise. So do you want something to drink or?" "No I think it's better if I go. Hard is alone at home and... I wish you all the best Y/N. Goodbye" "Bye Sweet Tooth and thank you." I gave her one last look before I left the bar and drove home.

#samoa joe #sweet tooth x reader #sweet tooth #twisted metal #sweet tooth x y/n #twisted metal sweet tooth #twisted metal series #needles kane #twisted metal 2023 #marcus kane

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edgelordfinalboss · 1 year

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For @softchonk since you asked for more vampire cowboys 🤠💫 Hope you enjoy!

Part Two: Outlaws Of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/Western American AU Fanfiction) 🤠🦇✨🖤

Dwayne didn't know the future.

Yet those who thought that he truly could read a set of well illustrated divination cards bought into his predictions.

The stagecoach driver would find gold.

The rich woman with the hideous ostrich feather hat would birth the child of a millionaire who would come to invest in the biggest cattle stock of the US.

Overwhelmed with fool's joy, they'd bought it and allowed him on the stage passing through the outskirts of Santa Carla, the current location of the man that caused most of the bitter hatred that lived in his heart for the mass majority of his depressing childhood, wishing to know more about his heritage.

"Where are you from, Mister?" The rich woman he believed that he heard being addressed as Clara leans in, elbows dug deep into the fine silk and cloth fabric of her skirt. Her golden curls fall from her bun.

He didn't want to explain the complicated details out of fear that his cover might be blown. He was a lost boy after all, a runaway but what would it matter if he was approaching eighteen in only two days. The mystery that being under the guise gave him was too good to forfeit now. Mystery would be his friend.

Clara reminded him much of the women who would show up to his orphanage in the place of their husbands, parading about in handsome gowns and fake smiles that came at cost of having their names broadcasted in the daily print. He was never adopted simply because of his refusal to conform to their standards, to rid himself of the heritage, of blood that he knew was inside of him. He was of indigenous descent and wanted to know more. He refused to cut his hair and be like them. There was no way that he would allow them to take that from him.

"Does it matter where I come from if I know where I'm going?" Dwayne had taught himself how to make his voice as soft as duck's down, wrapping all those who listened to him in his binds. "For people like me, we go where our intuition drives us."

"I suppose." She winks her eye, the aquamarine eyeshadow shimmering in the light of the sun.

Dwayne turns towards the glass outlook, curling his fingers into the metal. The stage was far from what he was used too as the bars and glass reminded him of a cell and the gentle rocking shifting to massive bumps giving him the premonition that he's on a boat about to sink. Outside, long gone was the endless slopes of golden sand and stretches of nothing as it had become healthy grass patches, tall fences and uniquely American architecture. Pristine white houses dot the land, horses who've never missed a meal and children running and playing among the gathering of pine trees.

"Do you suppose that I'll birth a boy and girl?"

Dwayne doesn't draw his eyes from the beauty of the higher class homes, their dream worthy drawn carriages and the pastel colors that kiss the eyes. It's all so beautiful, yet, none of it seemed to call him like an outside looking in.

Clara clears her throat pressing against her cameo choker.

"The child will be a female."

"Then who will keep up with the investment?" She tries to hide the panic in her voice at such a revelation. "A woman bidding in stocks or keeping up with the numbers in cattle. How preposterous."

"She will be strong enough to handle it." Though he could know less about what the future holds, he felt a burn of annoyance at the woman's thinking.

Determined, Clara pushes against Dwayne. "Maybe I will try and by the grace of God, he'll allow me a son. Just like in the good book with Moses and Hannah."

Dwayne lifts his chin, hair falling in sheets from around his neck. "Tarot isn't known to run hand and hand with the bible. You will bear no sons."

"Maybe you should give the cards another read, just for the sake of-."

The stagecoach jolts back, nearly knocking him clean from his seat. The driver gives a sharp yell, stopping the horses as they snort and pull against him, kicking their hooves on the ground in an odd rage.

"Just because a male is born it doesn't mean that he won't be an addlehead."

Dwayne stands up, tipping his hat to the lady who doesn't say another word. Her eyebrows knit as the predictions of Dwayne of being a millionaire's wife seem to no longer carry as much weight as heavy as birthing a daughter.

"Be careful who you trust and the very best of luck to you, whatever you do with your fortune."

Leaving out the red door with nothing but a pack of cards and a will to find where he belongs, a strong fear fills him as he watches the horses in their madness, pulling and pushing with a strength that he never witnessed among the animals. The stagecoach driver seemed too focused on his whip, yelling demands that seem to carry no weight to say his goodbyes.

"What is this?" Dwayne, confused, steps onto the dust street. Instead of a home sits a building bigger than any he'd seen his life. This was no home, it couldn't be. He had heard rumors that his father was wealthy, but this wealthy? This madness!

Massive stone walls arch towards the hills, dipping below in the distance. Gargoyles hang above three stories of large windows plastered against brick walls. Pillars hold lions snarling at the entry gate that hold not a single crack or error. Perfection.

A shadow appears from the base of the gate, towering above Ambrose from behind the bars. "What brings you here to Atlantis Hotel?"

Dwayne's entire being could be swallowed up in the man's shadow, his face pressed into his skull and eyes huge. Meeting his eyes, he could melt in both the man's harsh glare and the heat of the summer sun.

"I'm looking for someone."

The guard's eyes knit together. "So is every other man."

"But I am the exception, Sir. I have coin to pay for my stay while I go about my adventures finding this special someone in their child's game of hide and seek."

"Coin?" The man barks. "You'll need more than a coin to get in here."

Dwayne smiles, trying to recall all the smooth interactions that he had seen men in the town use to make the bartenders give them free refills. Even if it doesn't work, he would have to try something.

"Of course." Dwayne places his fingers through the gate bars. "Coin is simply play money for men like me."

"You mean boys?"

Ambrose reaches into his pocket, revealing a rolled up fold of money. The roll, despite being large, wasn't filled with money but playing cards covered by one dollar bills.

The man's eyes nearly bulge at the sight.

"It isn't much but for some men this would be much more than poker money." He had repeated the entire conversation from something that he had overheard before on the streets between the cry of buggies wheels and horses.

The gates open and like a charm, Dwayne walks through the gates. With a flick of the brown tie that binds the money together, he frees a few dollars bills won from an earlier game at the last saloon he'd visited. It wasn't much but enough to buy him a room for the next day. Enough to help him find his father.

"We have beaches." The large man drones on, his sharp and overbearing attitude long gone.

"That is Santa Carla's speciality." Dwayne says blankly.

"And great fishing waters if that is much to your liking."

Dwayne stops, his eyes surveying the man. He has the upper hand now. "Do not kiss the ground that I walk on. I am not the president but a mere man blessed with money. Know your worth."

"Of course." The man pauses before lifting his finger to gather Dwayne's attention again. "Have you heard about the vampires that roam this town?"

Dwayne, drawn in by the silliness of the statement laughs. "Yes. I am one of them."

The design of the inside is far beyond his dreams.

Everything is more grand than the next, striking him as more of something that belongs to the future rather than the present of 1870. He couldn't find the words to describe the anger raging inside of him at the sight.

This is what my father owns. This is what he had and he pushed me away because of who my kin is, because of who he once loved. He was ashamed for nothing.

"Greetings, new commer." A voice calls from the top of the staircase. "You look quite young to be here. Rich father? Mother inherited a will or something more?

Nothing stands among the gold railing. A cold wisp of air swings past Ambrose, drawing him back. Taking a stance against whatever it could be, the owner of the voice lays idly against the counter of the lobby, pale blue eyes looking out. White blonde hair glows in the light of a oil lit scone in the shape of a majestic lion. A rather handsome young man, but it was no way that he could be older than him.

Definitely not who I'm looking for. He thought with disappointment.

"Cat has your tongue?" He croons, his voice deep.

Dwayne shakes his head. "No. I'm just taking in the designs."

"Really?" He turns his head, pushing his hands into the pockets of his tartan button up to revel a short writing quill.

Dwayne felt a burning sink through his chest. This person was toying with him.

"My name is David and yours?" He asks, reaching for a gold bound notepad.

"Dwayne."

David snickers. "Surely you have a last name?"

"I do."

"What might it be?"

"Stephans."

David smiles with his teeth, lowering his eyes in a near animalistic way. "You share a last name with our owner, Dwayne."

Dwayne could bite through his lip. "What a coincidence."

#paul the lost boys #dwayne lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #alex winter #the lost boys paul #tlb 1987 #the lost boys dwayne #lost boys paul #the lost boys #the lost boys david #the lost boys marko

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fangirlstorycreator · 2 years

Note

Hey Bestie 🤗Your request with Terry taking care of his girlfriend while she's on her period gave me an idea. And yes it is a Taligaro request again, I'm sorry🙈 So let's say we're part of his army, a very skilled fighter but someday he notices us being in pain. We're trying to hide it from him and the other soldiers cause none of them has to deal with that and we don't want to be a burden just because of our period. But he comes to our tent at night and wants to know what's going on cause he's worried about us. What would he do and how would he react when we're telling him? Take all the time you need 🙏 Love you Bestie 🖤 🖤 🖤

Omg yes! I love this request bestie! Dont be sorry, I love writing about Taligaro 😁 I hope you like it, love you too bestie 💚💚💚

Even though you were one of the strongest and most skilled members of Taligaro's army, at the end of the day you were still a woman, and unfortunately that meant having to go through things that the men didnt have to. You had always suffered with your cramps during your time of the month, and most of the time you were able to hide the pain, and sometimes sooth yourself with a pain relief called milk of the poppy, a liquid remedy to keep pain away. But today, you had ran out, and as the army was on the move, you had to suffer in silence.

You had traveled most of the day on your horse along with the rest of the army, with Taligaro up near the front of the group. The other men didnt know about yours and Taligaro's secret relationship, you had both been in love since you joined the army, and were always spending time together away from the men. You both weren't ready to announce it to the men, so you carried on away from them, and were always happy to spend time together, weather it was just talking, hanging out or being intimate.

As he was busy today getting the army to the next point to camp up, he hadn't realised how much pain you were in, it was like someone punching you from the inside out, and without your pain relief, it was harder to hide it away. It was night fall when you all arrived at the campsite, As the general, the lord of the land we had arrived at had let him stay in one of the luxurious rooms in part of his castle. He was talking to this lord when everyone, including you were getting off your horses and unloading your bags. That's when out of the corner of his eye, he spots you in the distance next to your horse.

Your holding your stomach and you look like your close to tears. "Excuse me my lord, but is there space in this room for one more? I would like to bring a guest with me" "Of course general, just one though" "Thank you my lord" They end their conversation and Taligaro walks straight up to you. "Y/N, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" "Tal I'm fine, dont worry" "Maybe I wouldn't worry if you hadn't just lied to me with visible tears in your eyes, clutching at your body in pain and your face as white as snow. Now tell me what is wrong, are you hurt?" You exhale out deeply and look home in the eye. "I'm not hurt Tal, it's just that...I'm going through my time of the month. With all the travelling we have been doing I haven't been able to get any milk of the poppy to help with the pain and....I didnt want to worry you"

He looks at you with such guilt. "Y/N why didnt you say anything? I didnt want you to suffer in silence like that, especially all day. And with being stuck travelling on the horses, god I'm sorry Y/N" "Theres nothing for you to apologise for Tal, I'll be ok" "You say that as you look like your going to pass out. Now come with me, I'll grab your things" He takes your bag over one shoulder and guides you into the castle with the lord. "My lord, this is my guest Y/N. Now I was wondering if you have any milk of the poppy in any of your storage that we could use please?" "Of course general, I will get one of my men to retrieve some for you and bring to your quarters"

A few minutes later, you and Taligaro are walking into the room that was given to him. It was beautiful, warm and very clean. You had been used to sleeping on bed rolls for weeks, so it was a wonderful suprise to see a very large bed covered in soft throws. You start to unpack a few essentials when the door knocks, and Taligaro answers it. "Good evening general, my lord told me that you had requested milk of the poppy" "Yes, thank you" He says politely as he takes the small vial from the man, that's when he takes you delicately by the hand and sits you down on the bed with him. "Hear my dear, you need it" Taking the vial, you drink the milk and let out a sigh of relife" "Thank you Tal, i dont know what I'd do without you. Now all I have to do is wait until it kicks in"

"How long does it take?" "About an hour, but once it starts working, I wont have to take it again for another day or so" "But your going to be in pain for another hour? I don't like the thought of that, what can I do to help?" He asks sweetly as he rests his hand against your cheek, and you rest your hand against his wrist, stroking him with your thumb. "Tal I will be ok, you have already helped me with the milk of poppy" Thats when an idea pops into his head. "I know what to do! You wait there my dear" He says before giving you a quick kiss on the lips. He runs out of the room, and when he comes back a few minutes later, he looks very happy. "Where did you go Tal?" "To do something just for you. Now bring your towel and a change of clothes, follow me"

You grab your things and he guides you to a large room that looks like a sauna, with steam and the smell of coconut in the air, and built into the floor is a large bath filled with essential soaps and hot water. "We are guests hear after all, and I requested a bath to be run for you. Now you take all the time you need and I shall be waiting in our room" He tells you before turning away, but you stop him and give him a tender kiss. "Your are the sweetest man I have ever met, thank you" "Anything for you my dear" He gives you another kiss before leaving the room and letting you get undressed. You walk down the steps into the bath and the heat of the water, and the smell of the soaps engulf your senses and make you feel amazing. The heat is melting away the pain and the smell is making you feel so relaxed.

You were so happy that Taligaro was this fussed over you, and that just made you love him even more. About an hour later, the pain had gone, you were nice and clean, and you had dried off and got dressed, heading back to the room. When you went in, Taligaro was helping himself to a large food trey that one of the castles men had delivered for you both, so you walked over to him and gave him a high from behind. "Are you feeling better my dear?" "Yes I am, thank you again for this, it means a lot to me" "Of course, anything for you. Now lets get you something to eat. And by the way, I have another milk of the poppy hear, ready for when you need to take some more" You just cant get over how sweet he is to you, you give him another kiss before you both tuck into your food.

A few hours later, your feeling very tired, and Taligaro is lying on the bed. So he smiles warmly at you, takes you by the hand and pulls you in for a cuddle, with your head resting on his chest and his arms are wrapped around you. He starts to run his fingers through your hair as your eyes begin to close, and before you know it, your fast asleep. Taligaro can see you sleeping peacefully in his arms, so he wraps the blanket around you both, and kisses your forehead before whispering "No matter what, I will always protect you"

#thomas ian griffith #sensei targaryen #general taligaro #kull the conquerer #general taligaro x reader

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